


Somewhere

by TheWordStringer



Category: Elsewhere - Gabrielle Zevin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Crossover, Death, F/F, First crossover attempt, M/M, Major fandom/minor fandom, Rebirth, first work in this fandom, life after death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordStringer/pseuds/TheWordStringer
Summary: During an accident in London in 1997, a young man is hit by a bus and takes his last breath.During an accident in London in 1997, another teenage boy is trampled by a racing crowd of impatient shoppers.What if you could have a second chance at the same life? Would you even want to? Would you even want to start it all again?





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction crossover between Gabrielle Zevin's 'Elsewhere', and J. K. Rowling's 'Harry Potter'. Combining the world of Elsewhere and the characters of Harry Potter. These are probably my two favourite fandoms, so I thought it would be interesting to combine them in a work, especially as I've never tried a crossover before.

**THE END**

 

   The day was far from peaceful. In fact, one could say it was anything but. Oxford Street, London, was bustling with muggles, all waiting for Selfridges to open its doors, each man and woman eager to be the first customer in the shop for the new year. It was twenty-nine minutes past eleven on January the first, and the clock nearby was ready to emit a loud  _dong_ any second now. 

   Harry Potter knew that as soon as the chimes started to signal the half hour, the people crowding the streets would become frantic, which is when all hell would break loose. He had gone to buy a late-Christmas gift for Albus, his best friend, but something told him that it could and should wait another day. Surely he should have listened to Phillip. A throng of fully-grown impatient muggle shoppers was no place for a sixteen year old wizard.

 _Dear Phillip,_ he scrawled messily onto a bit of spare parchment as he weaved his way through the mass,  _I decided you are right. The group of people outside the shop is massive, and I don't think I'd be able to get Albus' present here anyway. I can't go back to York just yet, so I'll try and make it to your place. Either I will see you just before you get this,_ the first of the tolls started,  _or you will see me shortly after,_ the pushing started, and Harry searched overhead for an owl he could attach the letter to,  _from, Harry._

    There were no messenger birds, only pigeons. The owls must have been scared off by the screaming muggle women. The dark haired boy sighed and stuffed the letter into his pocket as more and more people thrust themselves towards the now open doors.

    He was short for his age, a result (he presumed) of being kept in a cupboard under the stairs by his aunt and uncle for the first ten years of his life. His lack of height meant he struggled to see over the sea of man surrounding him. Harry was starting to have trouble breathing. It was difficult. It was getting difficult to keep his head above the mob.

    Potter managed to get his foot on someone's hip. He grabbed their hair and yanked himself up to above everyone's heads. It was only for a brief moment, perhaps a second at most, but he could see enough to know that the roadway was clear. The boy let go of the hair he had held in his tight fist, and barged his way against the tide towards the ever-growing exit hole. 

    And then, finally, he made his break. His feet hit the road and he was free. He bent over, breathing in the smell of the tarmac beneath his palms, and grinned. He had been lucky. Phillip would definitely hear this story when Harry made it to his house. Phil's mother would too, and the rest of his family, when she undoubtedly invited him to stay over for a week and placed a steaming bowl of stew under his nose. 

    But the sounds were too loud all of a sudden. Oh, the muggles were furious, it was already eleven thirty-two, and the doors were still shut. Harry couldn't hear anything besides the banging on the glass of the shop, and the animalistic squawking of the enraged shoppers. He couldn't hear the honks of the double-decker making its way at speed towards him, and there was no chance of him making out the shouts of the bus driver who was at this point hanging half out of the side window. The red-faced man was stomping on the brakes, but the vehicle wasn't stopping.

    The last thing Harry James Potter heard before he was flung into the air, and his head hit the road ten meters ahead with a sickening smash, was the cry of another young man, trampled beneath the racing feet of the customers, each of them running towards the opening doors of the shop.


	2. FIRST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INC. Strong language/swearing.

**FIRST**

 

   Harry awoke, his head pounding and his ears ringing. He was blinded without his glasses, and could only see a shadowy object above his head. He sat up abruptly in order to get closer to the mysterious article, and heard a cry from above him. He, however, felt nothing. Suddenly, there was a blurry, head-shaped 'thing' hanging from the shadow. 

    "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing? I actually managed to fall asleep and then you go and fucking headbutt my bunk. You absolute imbecile." 

    So it was a bunk bed. But the dark haired boy still had no idea where he was. And who was this man? Boy? He certainly wasn't recognisable in Harry's half-blind state, that was for sure. And he couldn't remember bunking with a stranger at any point in the near-past.

    "The _SS.Nile_. God, can you not read or something?"

    He blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

    "You asked where we were. We're on the  _SS.Nile_. It is right on the fucking door. If I've been bunked with a moron, I'll have a fit."

    "I'm not a moron," Potter growled. "I just can't see without my glasses. Now if you'd be so kind as to help me find them."

    The boy very clearly rolled his eyes, so much so that it was visible through Harry's sightless situation. But, whether he wanted to or not, the blond boy reached across to the top of the dresser and passed them down to his companion. "Better?"

    "Yeah. Thanks." 

    He looked above to see the boy smiling at him slightly. It was not what he had expected from the angry teenager he had heard swearing at him just moments before. His bright blond hair was ruffled in a way that made the light entering through the round window behind him cast off in many directions, and left a hazy halo of lustre surrounding his pale face. He couldn't have been any older than 17 or so, and was definitely English, based on his accent. 

    "So how did you get here?" He tilted his head to the side curiously.

    "What do you mean?" Harry was abashed. He thought he had made it clear that he had no idea where they were. And now this boy was asking how he got onto the ship?

    "Never mind. Hey, I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy." He extended his hand downwards.

    Harry took it in his own, and shook it awkwardly. "Harry Potter."

    "Well then Potter, do you want to go and see if they have any food on this damned ship? I'm starving for something to eat." He grinned further, flashing his white teeth. And Harry agreed softly, with a nod of his head, before both made their way out of the lightly swaying cabin and into the sterile white corridor.


	3. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INC. Strong language/swearing.

**SECOND**

 

   The canteen was filled with old men and women, each of them greying in their hair and skin. Draco and Harry looked around for a table to sit at. Eventually, Harry spotted a table near to the back which had a young dark haired man sat there. He couldn't have been a day older than forty, and stood out drastically among the throng of pensioners crowding the room.

   "Hi," He smiled, sitting down in the booth at the far end of the room. "I'm Harry. And this is-"

   "I'm Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you, sir."

   The man looked up from where he was playing with his fingers under the table. "Black. Sirius Black."

   All three men observed each other, each one of them thinking the same thing.

   "Well," Sirius started. "Let's not beat about the bush. I was a wizard."

   The blond grinned, shaking Black's hand across the table heartily. "Me too."

   "I'm a wizard."

   Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You _are_ a wizard? Boy, surely you mean-"

   Draco shook his head suddenly, and Sirius frowned, sealing his lips shut. Harry looked over to the buffet table laid out along one side of the ship's deck. There was a gigantic profiterole stack, and a trifle, and a roast turkey, and an enormous salad bowl, filled to the brim. A lengthy queue dragged along from behind the neatly covered tables, though the passengers of the _SS.Nile_ (all clad in white pajamas) seemed to be moving along rather quickly.

   "It's like the food Ma used to make at home. Of course the House Elves did most of the cooking. But she often gave them weekends off whenever they felt like they needed a rest. Then she would cook. She'd always be trying to make it as good as them, so usually exceeded. I remember once I got home from playing Quidditch with my friends, and she had baked a gigantic croquembouche, _just for me_."

   "My mother never made us anything," Sirius moaned. "She just left the House Elves to do it all. She was a beautiful, strong, independent woman. But when it came to me and my brother, she had no time for us at all."

   Harry sighed a little. These two men had grown up with House Elves. His aunt and uncle wanted nothing to do with the magical world, so he was hardly influenced by small, helpful creatures at all - he probably was the one to take their place. Then when he had grown up enough to be eleven years old, he had moved in to live with a wonderful old witch who cared for him greatly. Minerva McGonagall had, unfortunately, died just less than a year prior, leaving Harry in charge of the home. 

    _That reminds me,_ he thought,  _I really must clean the house thoroughly when I get back to York. It must be a mess after my two weeks away._

Just then, a note landed on his lap. It was folded neatly, with curling heliotrope handwriting on the front. His name, and the number of the cabin he was staying in had been composed on the front as if the writer had all the time in the world. It was shocking, to see his name inscribed this way.

   "I need to go to the top deck." It was Draco, and as Harry looked up, he could see the other boy had a similar message held tightly in his left hand, the brown ripped envelope in front of him had his name scrawled in orderly black calligraphy.

   Harry stood at the same time as the other, and both muttered goodbyes to the older man, then made their way together up the many flights of stairs to the top of the ship.

 


End file.
